


Panthers and Psychiatry

by Garrae



Series: Cool For Cats [11]
Category: Castle
Genre: F/M, Family, Psychologists & Psychiatrists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-25
Updated: 2018-09-28
Packaged: 2019-07-17 10:28:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16093802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garrae/pseuds/Garrae
Summary: The Caskett Cubs are causing the daycare centre some concern...and are referred to Dr Burke for treatment.Two shot of Caskett Cats insanity.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted to fanfiction.net.

“What have the twins done _now_?” Beckett wailed, after their terrorist twosome were safely in bed, having exhausted themselves in creating terror, horror, and havoc.  Or alternatively, by having a normal day for the Castle clan.

“I don’t know.  They’ve only been in daycare two months.”

“Surely they didn’t change.”

“No,” Castle said very reassuringly, and hugged her.  “We’d have known about that straight away.  Along with every news service in the world.”

“That wasn’t as reassuring as it could have been,” Beckett grumbled.

“It’s probably something like hitting or biting.  Normal things for nearly-three year olds.”

“Not if it’s with claws.”

“Don’t be silly.  No changes, remember?”

“I wouldn’t put it past them to work out a half-change.”  They had surely worked out every other method of causing trouble.  Why would they ignore that possibility?

“If we haven’t, they won’t.  Let’s just give thanks that they’re behaving.”

“In that way.  Not any other.”  They never behaved.  She’d thought the _twos_ were supposed to be terrible.  The _threes_ were looking like being worse.

He smiled at her, which improved her mood.  The only thing that improved her mood faster than Castle’s open, happy smile was seeing the twins fall asleep.  “Now, how about some misbehaving?”

She kissed him hard.  “Sounds like fun,” she enticed.  “Who shall we be?”

Castle’s huge panther appeared.  Beckett played with his ears for a few moments, and then became her own sleek lethality and strutted to the bedroom.  By the time Castle got there, seconds later, she was her human self again, lithe, beautiful – and naked.

After that, they didn’t worry about the parent-daycare interview until they woke.

* * *

“Why does Miss Carter want to talk to us?” Beckett asked the twins.

“Don’t know.”

Beckett knew this to be a lie.  Petra’s conscious look and sudden concentration on her breakfast – as a child, which was the product of months of reinforcement and food withdrawal until she was human – was a dead giveaway.

“Did you hurt anyone?” Castle asked.

“NO!  Hitting naughty.”  That never stopped Petra trying: all that she worried about was not being caught.

“Did you, Davy-boy?”

“No.”

The adults got no further in finding out the problem before it was time to depart for the meeting.  Both of them were nervous, which was quite ridiculous given that they were respectable, mature, professional people.  In Castle’s case, that description should have been prefixed with the word _now_.  And possibly _usually_.  Or _sometimes_.

“I used to feel like this with Alexis.  As if it had been me who’d done something wrong.”

“I thought Alexis never did anything wrong?”

“She didn’t.  But” –

“But you did.”

“Daddy naughty?” Petra asked hopefully.  Beckett was sure this was to divert blame from whatever she or David – though David was a far less likely option for thinking up dreadful deeds, while being a very likely candidate for being caught – had done.

“No, Daddy has not been naughty,” she said firmly.

“Since last night,” Castle whispered in her ear.  “And you were pretty naughty too.”  Beckett elbowed him in the midriff.  He oofed.

“What happen?”

“Nothing.”

“Daddy hurt?”

“Nope.  Daddy’s fine.”  _But he won’t be if he carries on like that_ , Beckett thought.  The subway was not the place for salacious suggestions.  She glared at him.  Castle smiled sweetly with a distinct edge of _you know you like it_.  Petra – it was _always_ Petra – looked at her parents.

“Daddy kiss Mommy now.”

“What?” her parents squeaked.

“Daddy always kiss Mommy when she cross.  Make ‘noyy better.”

“Noyy?”

“Cross.”

“Annoyance,” Castle guessed.

“Yes.  ‘Noyy.”

“Say “an-noy-ance.”

“An... noyy...a.  Noyya!” she said triumphantly.  Castle sagged.  Trying to teach the twins proper pronunciation always failed.  Beckett was sure it was deliberate on their part, to be annoying, but Castle’s distress at their failure was quite amusing.

“Annoy-se!” David tried. 

Petra glared at him.  “Annoyas!” she attempted.  David smirked, and as ever, Petra reacted.  “Nasty!” she screeched.

“Shush!” Beckett said.  “No shouting on the subway.  Inside voice.”

Petra subsided.  When Beckett used that tone, it meant trouble.  That did not mean that Petra always complied, but fortunately today she did.  Threatening one’s infant in public tended to result in unfortunate consequences, quite frequently for the public.

The daycare centre was reached with only a modicum of fuss and the usual ten million repetitions of _hold my hand_ , _don’t run off_ , and the like.  Petra and David were divested of their coats and hats, and sent off to play.  Shortly, the sounds of Petra organising the others were heard.  Her parents ignored it.  They had decided on daycare so that Petra couldn’t exercise her not-at-all latent dictatorial tendencies solely on David.  All that had happened was that she was developing a talent for directing small armies, including all the other small – and not so small - children.  It appeared that a larger stage had merely provided her with more opportunity to – er – _manage_.  That had not been the plan.  The _plan_ had been that others would try to organise Petra.  It wasn’t working.  Petra’s personality easily overpowered all known groups of children.

“Mr and Mrs Castle,” the keyworker said.  “I’m Jada Carter.”  They knew that.  Of course they knew who the twins’ keyworker was.  “I’m so glad you could come in.”

Beckett didn’t appreciate being called Mrs Castle by anyone, except Castle himself, at any time.  She was Detective Beckett.  She considered saying so, and decided that this discussion was going to be bad enough without adding unnecessary difficulties.  Jada caught her expression, and moved very swiftly on.

“We’re having some concerns about Petra,” she said.  Petra’s long-suffering parents exchanged _oh-shit-what-now_ glances.  “It’s very normal for small children to indulge in imaginative play, but Petra seems to be unable to make any distinction between her imagined scenarios and reality.”

“In what way?”

“She insists that she’s a cat.  A black cat.  And that both of you are also cats, and David.  She is also convinced that all four of you are panthers.”

“Oh.”

_Oh shit oh shit oh shit._

“David isn’t nearly as insistent, but he seems to have been caught up in his sister’s game, and can be almost as...um... imaginative.  Petra is very” – she clearly searched for a less offensive word than _tyrannical_ – “persuasive.”

“But you said imaginative play was normal?”  Beckett said very neutrally.

“Well, yes, but” –

“And of course I am a fiction writer, and Petra and David hear a lot of stories.”

“Well, yes, but” –

“Isn’t this just another small-child game?”

“Mr and Mrs Castle,” Jada said, as if they were themselves small children.  “Petra and David are not able to make the usual distinctions between them being children and them being cats.  I am a childcare professional” – there was a very strong implication of _and you are not: you are merely parents and therefore know nothing_ – “and this is very worrying even at this stage.”

_You don’t have a clue how worrying_ , they thought together.

“I believe that both children, but especially Petra, should be assessed by a psychiatrist.”

“A _shrink_?” Castle squawked.

“A psychiatrist.  Yes.  With proper assessment now, this won’t become a problem later.  We’ll do all we can to support you.  Let me know what you decide.”

Probably as a result of Beckett’s visibly rising fury, Jada pushed them out of the daycare centre as quickly as possible, to leave them standing on the sidewalk.

“I think I need coffee,” Castle said.

“I think I need whisky,” Beckett replied.

“At least they haven’t actually changed.”

“I wouldn’t put that past Petra, just so she could prove the point.”

“Oh God.”

“Yep.”

“Let’s go home.”

Back in the loft, they stared gloomily at each other.  “Now what?”

“Apart from whisky?”

“Yeah.”

“Guess we’d better start looking up a shrink.”

“Back to medical confidentiality.”

“Yeah.  Great.”

“Dr Maine was just fine,” Castle said rather absently.  “Um...”  Beckett had a feeling of sudden dread at his dreamy expression.  “Now the twins are older...um...”

“Absolutely not.  No more.  None.”

“Oh.”  He tried to look adorable.

“We’ve just got some sort of normality and sleep back, and you want to ensure we never sleep again?  Or get to do anything else?”

“But...”

“And what if it were twins again?  Or triplets?  Or freaking quads?  You know it could be a litter!”  Beckett’s voice was rising rapidly.  “And I _hated_ being pregnant and morning sickness and you’d have to deal with it all over again” –

Castle paled at the memory.  “No.  It’s not a good idea.  No.  I should never have thought of it.  I won’t mention it again.  Never ever.  Never.”  He extracted his feet from his mouth and turned into his cat, to butt adorably at Beckett and possibly be petted.  She glared at him.

“Turning into a cat isn’t going to help you here,” she growled.  He changed back.  “We need to find a shrink.”

Some focused research later, they had a list of top-quality psychiatrists who would treat children: at least until they had become acquainted with the terrorist twins.

“Okay,” Castle sighed.  “This guy seems like the best.  He’s older, so he’ll have seen it all.  He’s got qualifications coming out of his ears, so he’ll respect confidentiality.”

“I’ll get Gates to give me a day off as soon as we’ve got an appointment.  She’ll understand if it’s about the twins.”

“She won’t want to visit, will she?”

“Probably.”

Castle mumped.  Gates’s visits were invariably disconcertingly disapproving, though the twins loved her and she, astonishingly, loved the twins.  Sadly, her view of Castle was as acerbically dyspeptic as on the day they had met, which never failed to rile Beckett.  Castle and Beckett’s wine consumption after her visits, which were uncomfortably frequent, reached levels best described as unhealthy.

“I’ll explain to her.  You call this Dr Burke and set something up.  Better make it for two to three hours.  Call me when you’re done and I’ll see Gates.  Ugh.”

“Better ensure we’ve got strong liquor.”

“For us or him?”

“Both.”

Beckett whisked off to get to work before the day was entirely wasted.  Castle ambled in the direction of his study and the phone, and contemplated his laptop and Dr Burke’s number with extreme dislike.  Despite the relative success of telling their close family and friends some months ago, since when not a single word had leaked of their – er – additional genetics; he felt very strongly that the whole house of cards could come tumbling down at any moment.

He dialled.

“Dr Burke’s practice,” said a very refined voice.

“Hey.  This is Richard Castle.  I’d like to make an appointment with Dr Burke to see our two children.  The daycare centre has expressed some concerns...”

“Certainly.”  The receptionist took some pertinent details.  “Dr Burke normally expects a first appointment with children to take half a day.”  There was some clicking.  “He could see you all next Monday morning.”  It was Thursday.  “Most fortunately, there was a cancellation.  Dr Burke is very busy.  Could I have your name again?”

“Castle.”

“Ah yes – _Richard Castle_?  The writer?  Is your wife attending as well?  I’d love to meet the inspiration for Nikki Heat.  And you, of course,” she added.

“Yes, she will,” Castle said, rather deflated by the receptionist’s clear preference for Beckett.

“Wonderful!  We’ll see you at 8.30 on Monday morning.  Thank you.”

“Thanks.  Bye.”

He rapidly texted Beckett, and received a quick smiling emoji in return.

* * *

“Sir?  Do you have a moment?”

Gates regarded Beckett very sceptically.  “Is this personal or professional, Detective?”

“Personal, sir.  It’s the twins.”

Gates’s expression softened.  “Shut the door.”

“Thank you, sir.” 

“What’s the issue?”

“The daycare centre have recommended that the twins see a shrink,” Beckett said baldly, “because they keep insisting that they’re cats.”

Gates’s stern face cracked slightly.  “I see.  You can hardly explain that they actually are cats, of course.”

“No.”

“Mm.  And why is this relevant now?”

“We’ve managed to get an appointment for Monday, and I wanted to request leave for that day.”

“Mm.  That is remarkably quick.  Are you sure you are seeing a reputable person?”

Beckett bridled.  “Dr Carter Burke.”

Gates choked on the mouthful of coffee she’d just taken.  “Carter Burke?  Good Lord.  How did you manage that?”

“Huh?”

“You may not be aware that my husband is a psychologist.  Dr Burke is a very well regarded psychiatrist indeed.  You will be in safe hands.”  Gates’s iron control cracked.  “But I would give a great deal to see his face on being presented with your...issues.”  She calmed herself.  “You may have leave on Monday.  I should like to see the twins on Thursday, with my husband.  Dismissed.”

Beckett’s feet took her out of Gates’s office before her brain caught up.  This was, regrettably, common.  Gates’s demeanour regularly reduced everyone to terrified horror, and even Beckett was not immune.  She normally caught up with the sting in the tail of the discussion some moments after she had returned to her desk, and today was no exception.  _Gates and Mr Gates?_   Or should that be Captain and Dr Gates?  Both of them?  Oh God. Oh God.  And Mr Gates was a psychologist?  And they were visiting?  Oh _God_.

“Oh God,” Castle said pathetically when he heard.  “Another shrink?”

Beckett snuggled in, while the twins created havoc all around them.  “He’ll have a field day,” she said, as Petra changed to panther and swiped at David, who promptly tried to pull her tail.  There were twin shrieks of rage, and playing turned into a full-on fight.  Despite a strong desire to leave them to kill each other, possibly not metaphorically, their parents waded in to pull the troublesome twosome apart and administer separate justice and time out.

After Petra had destroyed the playpens – and learned how to open doors – time outs were now dealt with by putting one twin in the spare room and one in the twins’ bedroom.  To avoid any unnecessary howling, the rooms were alternated.  To avoid escape, the parents supervised the closed doors.  On particularly bad days, their only adult time, until much later on, when they were generally too tired to take advantage of it, was as they sat together on the stairs.  Children, Beckett had frequently thought, were an extremely effective contraceptive.  Now there was a thought.  Now that the nights were darker, it was time for O’Leary to babysit so that she and Castle could go and prowl through Central Park for an evening: murdering (but not eating) the squirrels, and terrorising any lowlifes.  Such gentle amusements invariably reduced their stress levels, and the occasional articles in the press suggesting panthers in NYC were a small price to pay.

Petra was deposited in the twins’ room, David in the spare room.  Howls of misery rent the air.  The twins fought almost non-stop when together, but bawled absolutely non-stop when separated, which was why they were now sharing a queen-size bed.  The cot had become far too small, but the twins wouldn’t be parted, and it wasn’t a fight their parents were prepared to have.  Now that they were almost three, they could sleep in a proper bed.  Frequently, a late-night check disclosed two little black kittens, or cubs, rather than two little humans: though whatever the form, they were snuggled together in an adorable (when asleep) heap.  Equally frequently, there was a late night miaowing at the (now double-height, chicken-wire reinforced and inward sloping) stairgate.  Castle and Beckett had learned to ignore that, though it did tend to ruin any mood which they might have been attempting to enjoy.

“Shush!” Beckett said to Petra.  “You were fighting, so you get time out.”

“David fighting. Not me.”

“Yes, you were.  Both of you were fighting.  Both of you get time out.”

“Wasn’t me.  Not fair.”

Petra turned her back on her mother and sulked.  That was just fine.  When she was sulking she wasn’t arguing, screeching or destroying things.  Beckett slipped out, breathed out, and sat down on the stairs next to Castle.

“Tell me again why we don’t just call in the UN Peacekeepers?”

“Because they’d run screaming.”

“We could hire them out _as_ the UN Peacekeepers.”

“Nice thought, but someone would call Child Services.”

“Oh.  Just for a day?” she said hopefully.

“Don’t think so.”

Beckett leant her head on Castle’s shoulder, and they waited for time to be up, passing such time by indulging in a rather lengthy kiss and tucking together.

* * *

“Where we going?”

“We’re going to meet a new friend.”

Petra regarded her parents suspiciously.  David bounced.  “New f’iend?” he chirped.  “Boy?”

“Yes.”

“Want a girl!” Petra wailed, scenting unfairness, which she could detect (whether real or not) at approximately one mile’s distance.

“This new friend is a boy.”

“Don’t want a boy.  Boys nasty.”

David lunged for her.  Castle caught him and swung him up to his shoulder.  “No fighting.”

They drove to Dr Burke’s Midtown practice.  It seemed easier than stopping a free fight in a crowded subway train.

“Okay, we’re here.  Behave nicely, please.”

“Yes, Mommy.”

Beckett didn’t believe that for a second.  She took Petra’s hand, Castle took David’s, and they progressed to the correct floor. 

The practice reception contained an austere, but expensive, receptionist’s desk, occupied by an austere but undoubtedly expensively put together receptionist.  There were a comfortable couch and some armchairs, which the twins were eyeing up for their potential to be used as a climbing frame.  The receptionist emitted a cooing noise, which would undoubtedly be replaced by horrified tutting on longer – that was to say, more than ninety seconds – acquaintance.

Petra decided to be cute.  No doubt she wanted something.  Her parents wanted whiskey, but at eight-twenty a.m. that was inappropriate.

“H’lo,” she cheeped.  “I Petra.  This Mommy and Daddy.”

“Who’s that?” asked the receptionist, as David ambled up.

“Boy.  Not like boys.”

“I David.”  David batted his eyelashes and looked cute.

“Well, aren’t you both just adorable.”

“Hey, we’re the Castles.  We have an eight-thirty appointment with Dr Burke?”

“Of course.”  The receptionist looked at them.  “You’re Nikki Heat!”

“No!” said Petra.  “That _Mommy_.  Not Sticky Eat.”

Beckett womanfully controlled her face at Castle’s expression.  It was exceedingly difficult.

“Mommy a p’lice ‘tec-ive.”

“Yes,” said the receptionist, who was also trying not to laugh and not entirely succeeding.  “Your mommy and daddy are famous.”

“Not famous.  Mommy an’ Daddy.  Mine.”

“Mine too,” complained David.

“Mine first.”

This was technically true, since Petra had arrived before David.  However, it wasn’t allowable.

“You share us.”  Petra glared.  “No glaring.”

Before the twins could develop their argument further, which would include fighting, a tall, dark-skinned man of at least sixty appeared from a door.

“The Castle family?” he enquired.  “Please come in.”

The twins regarded this interesting new person with dual piercing glares, and wandered up, followed by their parents.  The door to the consulting room shut behind the four of them, which meant that the receptionist could release her laughter in solitude.

* * *

“New friend!” David chirped happily, bouncing up to the man.  Petra regarded him with a suspicious glare last seen being used by her mother in Interrogation One.

“I am Dr Burke,” he said. 

Petra glared harder.  “Doc’or?  I not sick.  No doc’or.  Doc’or nasty.”

“Doctor,” Castle corrected, ignoring the main point.  Dr Burke raised an eyebrow.  Petra didn’t diminish her glare one iota.

“Shall I take a history, and then we may begin?” Dr Burke said smoothly.  David wandered up to his desk and tugged hopefully at Dr Burke’s leg.  Dr Burke suavely turned him around.  “Please go to your father.”  Astonishingly, David did exactly what he was told.  Petra, by contrast, sat down by the side of his desk with her small legs crossed in best daycare style, and stared coldly at him.  It was really quite disconcerting.

“Mr Castle and Detective Beckett, and your two children – fraternal twins – Petra and David.”

“That’s right.”

Dr Burke took a brief history.  He was somewhat intrigued as to why the Castle family had approached him with such unwonted urgency.  Their twins were not presenting with any immediately evident behaviours, nor were their parents describing anything untoward as yet.

“Why have you requested this appointment?”

“The twins’ daycare centre staff are concerned that they are unable to distinguish reality from their imaginative play,” Mr Castle said.

How odd.  Detective Beckett had clearly stopped herself adding to that comment.

“Mm,” Dr Burke said, steepling his fingers.  “May I talk with your twins to see how they play?”

“Sure.”

Dr Burke was quite convinced that a relevant matter was being concealed from him.  However, he was not concerned.  That was perfectly usual, and would be remedied during the session. 

“Perhaps you would appreciate some coffee while I become acquainted with your children?”

“That would be great, thanks.”

Detective Beckett perused the room.  “Is there anywhere we can put the mugs out of the way?  Once they start to play things can get a bit lively.”

Dr Burke noted that.  Lively was all too frequently a synonym for destructive.  Still, he had seen that particular presentation many times, and could provide strategies to mitigate the issues.  In the worst cases, medication might be required.  That, too, he could provide.

“To your right is a high shelf, for that purpose.” 

“Thanks.”

Dr Burke left to instruct the receptionist to bring coffee for the two adults, and shortly returned. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dr Burke smiled at the two small children.  They were really quite interesting already: bright eyed and engaged with the new environment; small copies of their parents – Petra already completely her mother, down to the sceptical expression which sat strangely on her child’s face; David a small image of his father: the indications that he would grow into a tall, broad man already there.

David smiled back at Dr Burke, and, pleasingly, toddled back to where he sat on a low couch, designed to put him closer to the children’s level without further stressing his slightly damaged knee – a tennis injury, sustained some months ago but not yet fully healed.

“I David,” he chirped.  “Who you?”

“He doc’or,” Petra interjected decidedly.  “Doc’ors nasty.  Shots!  Hate shots.”

“I do not give shots,” Dr Burke noted.  Petra’s piercing gaze turned to him.

“No shots?”

“No.  Do you wish to see?  I have no needles in this office.”

“Show me,” she demanded.

“Petra,” Detective Beckett said meaningfully.

“P’ease show me,” she corrected.  It was evident that parental discipline was not lacking, even from that short interchange.  Dr Burke discounted the possibility that the twins were merely atrociously spoilt.  It had been a possible theory, given that – Dr Burke was perfectly well aware of Mr Castle’s wealth and fame – the family was exceedingly well-off. 

“Come to my desk, and I shall show you.”

Petra walked over.  Dr Burke opened each drawer in turn.  “Are you content that there are no needles?”

“Yes.”  There was a cough from Mr Castle.  “Thank’oo.”

Ah.  Both parents supplied discipline.  The child Petra was regarding him with a disconcertingly intelligent stare, however.

“Why we here?”

“So that I can see how you and David play.”

“Play!” David yelled.

“Inside voice,” Detective Beckett said rather wearily.

“Play?” Petra asked.

“Yes, you may play.  Would you like some toys?”

“P’ease,” said both twins.

Dr Burke supplied a selection of age appropriate, but varied, toys, and shortly wished that his hearing was not quite as acute as it remained. 

It was, observing the twins, very apparent that Petra was the dominant force.  David, however, was not entirely receptive to her dominating tendencies.  Still, for siblings of that age, their close bond was also apparent.  Dr Burke, so far, had seen absolutely nothing to indicate that there were any matters for concern.

The children continued to play.  Shortly, Petra came up to Dr Burke, and favoured him with a limpid look.

“You like cats?” she asked.  As it happened, Dr Burke did like cats.  He had had a number of cats in the past, although none presently adorned his home.

“Yes,” he said, and awaited developments.  It seemed that he was about to experience the imaginative play to which the adults had referred.  Strangely, Petra gave her parents a permission-seeking glance before she continued.  Surely a fiction writer was not circumscribing his children’s imaginative play, or allowing his wife to do so?  That would be highly worrying.

“I a cat,” she said.

“Really?”

“Yes.  Black cat.  David too.”

“Me too!” bounced David, hearing his name.

“Are you?  What do you do when you’re a cat?”

“Play.  David chases tails.”

“What do you play?”

“Mommy play mouse.”

“Mouse?”  Dr Burke could not imagine the tall, elegant Detective Beckett pretending to be a mouse.

“Mouse on stick.”

“Oh, a puppet mouse.”

Petra glared at him, as if he were unintelligent.  “Yes.  Chase mouse.”

“What do you do when you catch the mouse?”

“Pounce.  It deaded,” Petra said with enormous satisfaction.  Dr Burke blinked.  “Cat kill mouse.”

“Cats do eat mice.”

“Not eat.  Not _real_ mouse.  Toy mouse.”  Having corrected Dr Burke, she looked around.  “You got mouse?”

“No.  I do not have mice in my office.”

Petra regarded him with disappointment.  Dr Burke experienced the unpleasant sensation of being judged and found wanting.

“Mommy eat squirrel,” David said.  “Daddy said.”

Dr Burke flicked a glance at his patients’ parents, expecting resigned amusement.  He was astonished to see them blushing fiercely.

Petra recalled his attention by tugging at his hand.  “Mommy an’ Daddy cats too.  An’ panth’rs.”

“Panthers?”

“Big black cats,” Petra explained in a particularly condescending tone.  “Me too.”

Dr Burke managed, with some difficulty, not to tell Petra that he knew exactly what a panther was.

“Not let be panther ‘cept at home an’ cabin,” David added.

“Oh?  What do you do as a panther?”

“Chase deer.  Daddy caught it.” 

“Deer deaded.  We ate it.  Yum.”

Dr Burke’s eyebrows rose.

“Daddy pounce.”

“Mommy pounce too,” Petra said crossly.  “Girls better.”

“Are not!”

“Are!”

“Neither is better,” Dr Burke said firmly.  “Now, tell me more about being cats.”

“Cats only at home.”

“An’ at night at playpark.”

“Yes.  An’ the indoor play.”

“Lele play too.”

“An’ Ry’n.”

“Lele!”

“Who are Lele and Ryan?” Dr Burke enquired.

“Detectives O’Leary and Ryan.”

“I see.”  He turned back to the twins, who were – good gracious.  They were actually snarling at each other.  The daycare centre’s concerns did seem to have some validity.  “Are ‘Lele’ and Ryan cats too?”

“No.  Silly doc’or.  Only us.  We the only cats.  Mommy said so.”

“You a cat?” David asked, presumably to confirm his mother’s statement.

“No,” Dr Burke said.

“Poor doc’or.”  Dr Burke found himself regarded with pity, and further found that he disliked that sensation.  “No tail.”  He resisted the urge to visit the restroom.  He was perfectly certain that he did not have a tail, but the twins’ imaginations were really quite persuasive.

“When do you play cats?”

“Not _play_.  _Are_ cats.”

“People do not change into cats.”

“Do!  _We_ do.”

Petra’s otherwise pretty face was indicating an imminent tantrum.  Dr Burke was, now, slightly concerned.  She was indeed overly invested in her cat game.  Perhaps there was an issue here.

“Dr Burke,” Mr Castle interrupted, “would you please confirm to us that everything within this office will be kept entirely confidential and you won’t put anything in writing unless we authorise it?”

Dr Burke’s eyebrows flew up.  “Are you questioning my professionalism?” he asked incredulously.  That would be insupportable.

“No, I’m asking for your confirmation that the next few moments will not be recorded in any way.”

Dr Burke regarded Mr Castle with astonishment.  It appeared that Mr Castle was himself suffering from a paranoid disorder.

“Please confirm,” Detective Beckett rapped out.

“Certainly,” Dr Burke said coldly.  “I will make no notes whatsoever.  You may check, before you leave.  I expect that will not be long delayed.”

Detective Beckett ignored him.  “Petra, David,” she said.  “This friend is like O’Leary.  You’re allowed to change.”

Dr Burke entirely failed to understand that comment.

“Like Lele?”

“Yes.”

Petra scowled.  David smiled.  “He not Lele,” she said crossly.  “Not like him.”

“Like,” said David, who liked everyone.  “Play.”

“If you wish,” said Dr Burke very coldly indeed.

“Petra play too.”  David tugged at his sister.

“No!” she said.  “Not play.  Don’ like him.”

“I play.”  David turned to Dr Burke.

“ _What in the world!_ ”

Dr Burke found a black kitten in his lap, patting at him.  He stared at it.  He then stared around the room.  It still appeared to be his soothing, well-appointed office.  It still contained himself, the Castle adults, and a very sulky Petra.  It did not, apparently, still contain the child David.  Instead, it contained a small black kitten, presently purring in his lap, and notably perfectly comfortable.

“What have you done with your son?” he asked. 

“He’s sitting on your lap.”

“That is ridiculous.  I do not know how you achieved this trick, but it is not funny.”

Dr Burke noticed that his hands were petting the kitten, and stopped.  It mewed pathetically at him.  He noticed that it had blue eyes, as David had had. 

“Not fair!” Petra howled.  Dr Burke’s eyes widened to saucer-sized proportions as she disappeared and a second small black kitten appeared in her place, which scampered across his costly carpet and jumped into his lap.  This cat had green eyes.  It, too, mewed at him, much more demandingly.  He petted them both.  However the trick had been performed, the kittens did not deserve to suffer in any way.  They settled down, and purred babyishly.

“I cannot say I am impressed by your practical joke.”

“I’m afraid it’s not a joke.”

“Please do not continue this ridiculous charade.  Should any footage appear publicly, I shall not hesitate to sue.”

He looked at his lap, the contents of which were growling.

“ _What in heaven’s name are those?_ ”

“Those would be the twins.”

Dr Burke’s legendary composure shattered.  “Those are not your twins.  Those are two kittens” –

“Guess again.”

He looked down again.  “Cats.”

“Actually, panther cubs.  And yes, they are the twins.  So were the kittens.  We have a slight...er...genetic issue.”

The animals spilled out of Dr Burke’s lap and marauded around his desk.  He was so irritated that he failed to notice the small holes in his dress pants where their claws had pierced the fabric.

“Cease this ridiculous behaviour at once.  It is perfectly clear why you were referred to me: you are suffering from a disgraceful degree of delusion supported by practical joking.  I shall not be treating any of you – _what is that_?”

A full-sized panther had appeared in place of Mr Castle.  Detective Beckett remained present.

“Dr Burke,” she said sharply, “you need to open your mind.  You may not want to believe it – God knows, nobody else did – but we are real.”  She ruffled the fur of the panther, who rumbled at her.  “Maybe we shouldn’t have sprung it on you like that, but can you honestly say you’d have believed us if we’d tried to tell you without actually showing you?”

Dr Burke made an incomprehensible noise, which normally he would have deprecated.  In the circumstances, he found it entirely reasonable.

“We are real.  This” – she stroked the panther’s head.  Dr Burke noticed very particularly, through his anger, that it had bright blue eyes, regarding him with considerable amusement.  It coughed, as if it were laughing – “is Castle.”  The panther yawned, revealing gleaming teeth.  “Those are the twins.”  She paused.  “Petra, David, come here.”  The cubs bounced round the desk, spotted the adult panther and proceeded to bat at it, try to pull its tail, pounce on it, and, in Dr Burke’s presently exceedingly jaundiced opinion, behaved in a way that should have had all three animals removed to a zoo.

“What, precisely, are you expecting of me?  To assist you in perpetuating your delusions by noting that this is not a practical joke?  I shall not do so.”

The adult panther prowled across the room, shaking off the two cubs.  It stopped in front of Dr Burke, examined him, shivered, and became Mr Castle.  The two cubs growled, and also became the twins.

“He not nice,” David wailed, at jet-fighter volume.  “You said he a _friend_.  Not friend.  Not nice.”

“Not like Lele.  Want Lele.  Not want him. Nasty man.”  Petra was less loud, but no less forceful.

Dr Burke found himself made to feel guilty, which was yet another emotion that he did not appreciate.  Mr Castle squatted down and gathered up his squalling children, which did not reduce the extent or volume of their misery.  Detective Beckett sent one scorching glance around his treatment room, spotted the box of Kleenex, and removed two.

“Blow,” she said firmly to David, and then repeated the operation with Petra.

“Not _like_ him,” they wailed at her.

“Shhhh.”  Detective Beckett took possession of Petra.  The physical similarities were really most marked.

“Mommy be cat,” Petra whimpered.  “Want cats.”

Detective Beckett calmly took possession of one of Dr Burke’s luxurious armchairs, and patted her weeping infant.  “You be a cat, then.”

“Mommy too!”

“In a moment.  You go first.”

Under Dr Burke’s increasingly astounded eyes, Petra was again replaced by a small black kitten.  Regrettably, she remained equally miserable, expressing it in a painfully persistent and high-pitched mew which assaulted his ears. 

He could not believe that these events were real.  He was a man of profound learning and top-class reputation, who had never been confounded by even the most complex of cases.  However, the matter which had arrived in his treatment room was one, he was absolutely convinced, which no psychiatrist had ever seen before.  Detective Beckett continued to pet her kitten.

“It’s a bit hard to accept,” she said, with only marginal sympathy.  In the background, Dr Burke could faintly see Mr Castle consoling his dejected son.  The volume of misery was, thankfully, decreasing, though it was still punctuated by all-too-frequent repetitions of _he nasty_.  “But we’re real.  No doubt you would prefer that we weren’t.”

Dr Burke stared at her, wordless.  He had never been left wordless in his life, and he did not appreciate the sensation.  In fact, he had not appreciated any of the new experiences to which he had been introduced in the last two hours. 

He paused.  Surely, as New York’s pre-eminent psychiatrist, he should embrace new experiences?  He reflected upon his behaviour in the time in which the Castles had been present.

“I find it difficult to accept,” he said.  “However, failing any other explanation, I must believe my own eyes.  Please show me once more.”

“Your turn,” Mr Castle said.  Detective Beckett stood up, to the audible distress of her daughter.

“Watch closely,” she said.  Dr Burke complied.   There was a certain note to her voice which indicated that non-compliance would be unwise.  He fixed his eyes upon her.  A mere instant later Detective Beckett was gone and a slim, elegant, pure black Siamese had taken her place.  The cat shivered, and became a still-slim, still elegant, but very dangerous-looking pure black panther.  Dr Burke had to work extremely hard to control his reaction.

“Mommy panth’r!” David squeaked.  “Down, Daddy!”  He wriggled, and suddenly a small black streak flashed past Dr Burke and pounced on Detective Beckett – Dr Burke had decided that, difficult as it was, he had to accept that there were indeed four shapeshifters present in his office.

Detective Beckett growled, and for a moment everything stopped: even David’s bounce.  Dr Burke watched with some interest as David turned over and exposed his throat and stomach.  Detective Beckett nipped him lightly, and then stepped back and changed to human again.

“Are you satisfied?”

“I believe that I have to be,” Dr Burke said faintly.  “But” – he recovered a small amount of composure – “since there is clearly no issue with the twins’ imaginative play, why on earth are you here?”

“Because,” Detective Beckett snapped, “the alternative was telling the daycare centre the truth.  Unlike you, they are not bound by medical confidentiality.”

“I see.  Indeed.”  He steepled his fingers, and found that a blue-eyed kitten was endeavouring to climb his leg.  He collected it, and noted with disfavour the small holes in the fine fabric.  “In other words, you are using me in order to tell the daycare centre that you have taken their advice, so that they do not enquire further.”

“Yes,” Mr Castle said, with no hint of contrition.

“I see.”  Dr Burke did not approve at all.

“Are you suggesting we should have approached a less reputable person?” Detective Beckett asked, with an acid edge to her voice.  “You have more to lose than we do.”

Dr Burke regarded her, horrified, and failed to notice that he was petting David.  “Are you suggesting that” –

“I’m merely pointing out that your professional reputation wouldn’t survive a leak.”

“And you’d be the one who looked crazy,” Mr Castle added, which was quite unnecessary, as Dr Burke had already assessed all the implications of their choice.  He did not appreciate any of those implications. 

“You have thought this through,” he said coldly.

“Yep.”

“How very intelligent.”  He did not mean it as a compliment.

“We’re not dumb either.”

“I have become aware of that.”

“Not dumb,” Petra had become a child again. 

“Shush.”

“ _He_ dumb.  We cats!”

“Petra, say sorry.  That was very rude.”

“He not b’lieve it.”

“Petra,” her mother said firmly.  Petra scowled.

“So’y.”  She turned into a cub and curled up, evidently sulking.

Dr Burke restrained a squeak of surprise as David became a child again.  “Friend?” he asked.

Dr Burke’s annoyance was softened.  David reminded him of his own son at the same age, now grown and with a wife of his own.  “Yes,” he said.  “Friends.”

“Good,” the child pronounced, and returned to a kitten form.  Really, they were most adorable kittens.  Perhaps he should go to a shelter for a new kitten?

“David does it again,” Mr Castle said, resignedly.

“Let us begin once more,” Dr Burke said, somewhat apologetically.  “We have not started well.”

“Yeah.  We’re sorry too, but... there’s no good way to do this.  The Ob-Gyn didn’t believe us until we changed.”  Dr Burke blinked.  He could imagine not.  “And... well, even our friends didn’t take it well at all, and we can’t afford even a hint of this to get out” –

“Of course not,” Dr Burke said reassuringly.  “And now that I have assimilated the circumstances, I shall be happy to assist with your small deception.  But...”

“Yeah?”

“I should very much like to know how all of this arose.  Medically, it is quite impossible.” 

Detective Beckett shrugged.  “Just call it magic, and accept it.”

“But” –

“A Russian student who completely disappeared bit me.  I found I was a cat.  Some time later, I met Castle” –

“And aren’t you glad you did?” – Detective Beckett scowled.  Mr Castle smiled very sweetly.

“changed him, and then the twins came along.  For two years, they were synced to me.  Then they started to change independently, and we’ve been teaching them ever since that they never, ever change without our permission.”

“Clearly, that has worked.”

“So far.”

“Mommy say when we change,” David popped up to say.  “Mommy an’ Daddy cross if we naughty.”

“Yes,” Dr Burke agreed.

“Only change if home.”

“Yes.  Only when your mother and father allow you to change.”

David slid off Dr Burke’s knee and wandered over to his father.  “Daddy play.”

“Not yet, Davy-boy.  When we go home.”

“Wanna play!”

“David.”

David subsided, but it was obviously temporary.

“If you permit, he may play with the toys.”

Mr Castle lowered David and he scampered off to build towers and knock them over, which Dr Burke had found to be a natural human instinct.  Shortly, Petra joined him.

The children occupied, Dr Burke joined the adults.

“I see no reason to believe that your children are anything other than normal.  However, I also appreciate that you must preserve secrecy, and that you wish to tell the daycare centre that you have taken their advice.”  He coughed, a little embarrassed.  “However, I have genuine patients who need my assistance, and I cannot justify using appointments for children who do not require treatment.”

“No,” Detective Beckett said.

“Therefore, I have a suggestion.”

“Mm?”

Dr Burke shifted uncomfortably in his chair.  “I should like to study the effects of growing up as a shapeshifter” –

“You _what_?” the adults ejaculated.

“Privately.  There would be no publications.”  He regarded their stunned faces.  “Whilst your children are normal, other children do exhibit an inability to distinguish between imaginative play and reality.  Observing how your children manage the situation will be extremely helpful in evaluating treatments for those children.”

They stared at him.

“I do not need to observe them often: perhaps once each month?”

“Not another one,” Detective Beckett said unhappily.

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve already got Gates – my boss – and her husband visiting.  The twins aren’t lab rats.”

“Gates doesn’t visit because she’s investigating.  She visits to scare the sh - sugar out of us.”

“Want Gates!”

“ _Captain_ Gates, Petra.”

“Want C-apt Gates.”  Petra still hadn’t quite mastered the complexities of ‘Captain’.  “P’ease?” she added hopefully.

“Another day.”

“No!  Now!”

“No.”

Petra’s face contorted and turned red, undoubtedly preparatory to a tantrum.  Detective Beckett regarded her daughter calmly.  “If you tantrum, then it’s time out.  Right here, right now.”  Petra squeaked, and stopped the incipient tantrum in its tracks.  Dr Burke was, rather unwillingly, impressed.  David, however, was not.

“Petra shout.  Petra naughty.”

“Petra didn’t shout,” Mr Castle said over Petra’s squeal of anger.  “Petra wasn’t naughty, either.  But you were rude to your sister.  Say sorry.”

“Won’t!”

“I think it’s time we went home,” Detective Beckett said.  “The twins need a little time on their own.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mr Castle said.

“Not like doc’ors,” Petra said.  “You not doc’or.  Friend.”  Dr Burke smiled.  “Maybe.”  His smile slipped.

“Friend,” David decided.  “Wanna say bye-bye.”

“Me!”

“Both of you can say goodbye.”

Dr Burke found himself buried in a furry lapful of tussling cubs, from which it appeared that both were endeavouring to lick his face.  That was not hygienic.  He succeeded in catching one in each hand, and regarded them sternly.   “Human, please.”  They produced twin embarrassed mews and became children.  One planted a very sloppy, sticky kiss on his cheek.  The other stared right back at him through suspicious hazel eyes, and, ridiculously, presented a small hand.  Dr Burke shook it.  The children bounced back to their parents – really, there was no other word for their progress.

“Thank you, Dr Burke,” the adults said, simultaneously, and shook hands.

“Thank you.  I shall contact you for a further observation session in one month.”

The Castles left.  Dr Burke steepled his fingers, and considered.  He was sure that his acquaintance with their unusual characteristics would be most interesting.  However, although he would never be able to publish his findings, he would be the author of some highly original research.

No lesser psychiatrist would ever be able to deal appropriately with the relationship between panthers and psychiatry.

**_Fin._ **

 


End file.
